


People Write About Us?

by Jayden und Verwelkt (SailorVFan10)



Series: For We Are the Beautiful Thieves [20]
Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Community: mission_insane, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-26
Updated: 2010-08-26
Packaged: 2017-10-20 00:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorVFan10/pseuds/Jayden%20und%20Verwelkt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Crawford is never going to let Schuldig use the internet ever again.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	People Write About Us?

Schuldig arrived in Crawford's office holding a stack of papers, and tried his hardest to not break out in laughter. Crawford did not appreciate the interruption, but learned the hard way he shouldn't ignore Schuldig and instead humour him. He would get out of his hair faster.

"Hey, Crawford," he said, kicking the door closed behind him, "get a load'a this." He slammed the paper stack on the keyboard of Crawford's laptop, looking smug as usual. Crawford picked up the top sheet by the top corner and read the first sentence.  
"What the hell is this?" He looked at Schuldig and the telepath knew the question he wanted to ask: Is this a _joke_?  
"It's not a joke and it's called 'fanfiction'. That—" He pointed to the story Crawford had the misfortune of reading. "—is called an 'alternate universe'."

Crawford readjusted his glasses.  
"So in this I am...seventeen—"  
"Which was _so long ago_..."  
Crawford gave him a silent warning to shut up and thought, _Twenty-seven is **not** ancient, you know_ , hoping Schuldig was eavesdropping on his thoughts, which he probably was. Schuldig was nosy like that, which would have annoyed Crawford regardless of the fact that he was also a telepath.

"And you're...eleven?"  
Schuldig nodded. "Though if you want me to be honest—not like I never am, and even if you didn't want my honest opinion, I'd say it anyway—that doesn't even _act_ like me. Since when was I a simpering, weepy little boy who cried at the drop of a hat?"  
"Never," Crawford said matter-of-factly. He had known Schuldig since he entered Rosenkreuz when he was eleven—Crawford was sixteen then. "You picked fights with the guards, you tried to skip your lessons—which might explain why you make ineffective mental shields—you were completely self-absorbed, and you tried to escape three—"  
"Four," Schuldig corrected. "Tried to escape _four_ times."  
"Four times too many."  
"It's easier to break out of prison than Rosenkreuz. Not that I've ever been in prison, mind."

Crawford read more of the story Schuldig gracelessly left on his laptop and stared at it incredulously.  
"'Bradley-chan'?"  
Schuldig sat on the arm of Crawford's chair. Crawford, miraculously, did not notice, and he was one to notice _everything_.  
"...Your name is Bradley?"  
Crawford looked at Schuldig over the tops of his spectacles. "No, it isn't. It's 'Brad'. You should know that, even though I don't use it."  
"Aww, it's because you hate it, isn't it?"

Crawford glared and momentarily placed the story down.  
"At least I _have a name_."  
Schuldig scoffed. "So do I. You don't honestly think that my mother named me 'Schuldig', do you? Unlike you, I have a perfectly normal German name, and you will never find out because it's not important enough to me."  
There was silence as Crawford read further. It was like a trainwreck in that once gazed upon, it was hard to pull your eyes away, often leading to a car accident or similar.

"Why does this read like a bastardized, gender-bent version of 'Lolita'?"  
Schuldig shrugged. "I found it amusing as fuck. I thought Mr. Stick-Up-His-Arse would find it somewhat amusing too. Better than all that paperwork, anyway." He flipped through the stack still on Crawford's laptop. "By the way, there's more where that came from. It's all over the internet if you know where to look..."

Crawford noticed Schuldig was grinning like a deranged Cheshire cat. Any normal person confronted with that look would have backed up and away from the strange looking telepath, but this was Crawford. He had been living with Schuldig for twelve years. The only thing he didn't trust him with was a razor.

"What is that look for?"  
"Oh nothing," Schuldig said, brushing it off, as he stood from his not-so-comfortable seat. The grin was still there. "It's just that there's this one story where you and I..." He leered at Crawford then, hoping that was enough for him to finish the sentence.  
"In your dreams."

Schuldig headed for the door, hands in his pockets looking for his pack of cigarettes.  
"The day you can see my dreams is the day I can chuck people out the window with my mind." He found his cigarettes and put one in his mouth and he opened the door to Crawford's office.  
"Anyway, enjoy the what're-they-called...the fanfiction story things. I'm sure you'll be mildly amused. Or, at the very least, mildly disturbed. See ya!" He took his leave just as he took out his lighter and lit his cigarette. Crawford didn't like him smoking in his office and Schuldig, for whatever reason, always respected that fact.

Crawford stared at the huge pile of fanfiction for a second or two, contemplating what to do with it. He pushed it aside, made sure there was no permanent damage to his laptop, and continued on with his paperwork.

He would not let himself read those stories with him and Schuldig. They would give him mental images he could not afford to have. Mostly because Schuldig would pick them up in his own head and get the wrong idea.

 _There are no secrets in this house._


End file.
